


look at them look at us

by drinkingstars



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Has Issues, M/M, Paparazzi, Porn with Feelings, or at least talking about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: “Oi, come on Richard, who’s the new boyfriend? He’s real cute.”
Relationships: Froy Gutierrez/Richard Madden
Comments: 15
Kudos: 33





	look at them look at us

**Author's Note:**

> Froy had a lot going on that week...this is about tweets and tabloids and topping.

Richard stirs awake slowly, not sure what woke him up, or if he will just go right back to sleep. He keeps his eyes closed and hopes to just fall off again, but behind his eyelids he can just barely perceive a faint blue glow, emitting from the pillow beside him. He opens his eyes carefully, focuses on the light where it reflects off the painted wall closest to the bed, off the screen carefully gripped and turned in Froy’s hand, where he’s trying to keep it under the covers. Richard furrows his brow, sits up to check the clock beside him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Froy mumbles, pushing his phone away and resting it on the table beside him as Richard squints into the dark.

“‘S’alright. You ok?” Richard asks, turning back over on his hip. He can only faintly make out Froy’s profile now, his head resting on his pillow. Froy turns toward him.

“Yeah, sorry if I woke you. Couldn't sleep.” Froy reaches over under the covers, finds Richard’s forearm. He grips his wrist, and Richard brings his other hand to his, squeezes it.

“It’s alright. Long as you’re ok,” Richard says, sleepily. Froy turns and faces him, closer, settles onto half of Richard’s pillow.

“I’m ok. Was checking twitter and talking to a friend,” Froy says quietly in his soft, middle of the night voice that usually lets Richard fall right back asleep. Richard groans.

“Nothing good to come of twitter at 3 am, love,” he says, hooking his arm through Froy’s and pulling it against his chest.

Froy sighs. “No, I know. It’s ok. My friends had some...there was some gay drama, let’s just say,” Froy says, doesn’t sound like he wants to take the time to explain further, and that’s ok.

“There always is,” Richard says, nestles his face down further onto his half of the pillow, kisses Froy’s shoulder, and falls asleep.

* * *

Froy wakes up easily when Richard’s alarm goes off in the morning. He stretches in the hold of Richard’s arm, draped around his waist at some point while they slept.

“Did ye sleep, eventually?” Richard asks, pokes a finger into Froy’s right butt cheek while he’s waking up. Froy wriggles awake, slowly turns over in his arms.

“Yeah, finally. Talked to Adam some more and then slept,” Froy says, pulling his knees up to bend against Richard’s thighs.

Richard kisses his head, still muzzy with sleep. “Which one’s Adam?” he asks, stretching his arms out and over Froy’s head and shoulders.

“The author. My book, the audiobook thing. Are we going to work out today?” Froy says, gripping Richard around the bicep and tugging, meaningfully.

Richard scowls. “Don't wannae. Fuck, I guess so. Wait, is your friend ok? Oh, guess it wasn’t 3am where he was, eh?”

Froy leans in, sets his teeth against Richard’s upper arm, gently. “No, it wasn’t, and yeah, he was just mad, about something that happened to our other friend, and then I was mad, and we needed to talk about…” Froy trails off, looks like he’s ready to hop out of bed rather than continue explaining this. “I dunno, queer self identity, and representation, and like, coming out. You know. Light, middle of the night things. Want me to go make coffee?”

Richard feels his lip tic, a nervous thing that feels out of his control. “I can make the coffee, you make it too strong...is there…” Froy scowls like he disagrees, and Richard pauses, looking for the right way to say this. “Is there...fuck I need coffee ta’ get into this. Is this like...stuff you don’t feel you can talk about, with me?” Richard asks, his nose wrinkling a bit as he tries not to feel wounded. He is not sure he is ready for Froy’s answer, and definitely not without coffee first. 

“We’ve literally talked about it a million times,” Froy says calmly, brushing through Richard’s hair with his fingers. “Come on, let’s make coffee. You’re all...frowny and panicky, no bueno. I’m fine. I love you, come on.” 

Richard makes the coffee. Froy sits at the table and talks about his writer friends, about one of them coming out after years of being criticized for telling queer stories while everyone thought she was straight. 

Richard feels that. “And she still got shit for it after, aye?” he asks, annoyed on all their behalf.

“Yeah, this dumb like, video came out, and compared her books to these other ones that are not at _all_ representative, not the same thing at all. So now she has to like, question her own questioning and decision. Like we don’t all spend every day second guessing everything we do in public spaces anyway,” Froy spills all the words out practically at once, stumbling over a few like he does when he’s anxious. 

Richard goes to stand next to him and pulls his head close to lean him against his hip. “This is why I don’t second guess it. Not for us, not right now, anyway,” Richard says, softly.

Froy sighs. “I know you’re right. We have our reasons. And day to day, I am totally fine. It just messed with my head...at 3am. Adam is good to talk to, since we’re basically the same person. He’s happy if I’m happy.”

Richard strokes the back of his neck. “If you’re not happy...like the day that happens, you promise you’ll be very clear.”

Froy looks up at him dubiously. “Oh, like I’m normally so good at hiding my feelings?” he laughs.

“I’m completely serious,” Richard says, knocks against Froy’s shoulder where he’s holding him, for emphasis. “If you’re not happy and it’s something I did then I’m a fuckin’ asshole.”

“If I’m not happy, it’s not because of anything you did,” Froy says, looking at him like he wants to be kissed.

Richard bends down to oblige him. 

* * *

They drink their coffee and eat their terrible zero net carb cereal, and head to the gym. Richard’s trainer meets him there, puts him through his miserable (though he has vowed to himself not to complain ever again) paces from six feet away, while Froy does his own rotation on the machines, earbuds in. 

Richard wonders, breathing between sets, what he’s listening to. He catches his eye in the mirror when Froy finishes a set of chest presses and rests, leaning into the grips on the machine. Froy catches him, turns his head to look at him and really give him a smile. 

Richard doesn’t think he looks secretly sad—he hopes he knows him well enough that he could tell by now—but he can’t be totally sure. He rolls his neck out and nods to count himself back into his reps.

Richard’s trainer leaves when his hour is up, and they have the small gym to themselves. Froy lies on his back on the mat, stretching his hamstrings, and Richard flops down beside him. He stretches out his shoulders, looks up at the two of them on their backs in the mirrored ceiling overhead. 

He tilts his chin over toward Froy, his head resting on the edge of his chest while he reaches for his outside hip pocket, and pulls out his phone. Froy lets go of his thigh, his leg dropping the floor and crossing over Richard’s. Richard holds his phone out at arm’s length, and snaps a couple of photos.

“We’re pretty fuckin’ cute,” Richard says, thumbing back and forth between the two shots, flicking them away into the hundreds more that live on his camera roll, seen by almost no one.

“Yep,” Froy says, rolls his head on his neck so the top of it bumps the top of Richard’s. Richard drops his phone to his side, slides it back in his pocket. 

“Sometimes I just wanna post one. Be done with it,” Richard says, pokes the toe of Froy’s sneaker with his own.

Froy swallows beside him, nods his head against the mat. “Yep.”

* * *

They get papped again just two days later. Richard sees the guy the moment they step out the door, but it’s already too late. Froy is holding a bin liner full of odd laundry they’re dropping off since the ancient machine in their flat can’t seem to handle it. Of _course,_ the one and only time Froy has left the house carrying a bin liner. Of course. 

Richard is glad he has a mask on but it doesn’t save them. He looks back over his shoulder as they cross the street to where he parked his car. 

“You’re seeing this guy, aye?” he says, muffled through his mouth covering. Froy acknowledges, a pursed tight smile and a silent nod as he looks just past Richard and across the street. 

Richard swears behind his mask, angry that they’ve been located because now their privacy is shot to hell, and annoyed that he didn’t grab that bag himself, but he was already carrying two bags and Froy had his backpack on and his hands free. 

Leaving Richard looking, and feeling, like the asshole. He glares at the photographer, who follows them step for step along the sidewalk but stays on his own side of the street, thankfully, or Richard might lose his usual composure. 

“Where’re we headed today then, eh boys?” the pap chirps as they reach the car and Richard shoots Froy a look. Do _not_ engage. Froy grumbles and Richard can hear him singsonging _fuck you fuck you fuck youuuuuu_ under his breath as he unlocks the doors. “Oi, come on Richard, who’s the new boyfriend? He’s real cute,” the asshole yells over.

“ _Don’t,_ ” he hears Froy say, clear and calm. Richard clenches his jaw, opens the door roughly. 

Froy tosses his backpack and the laundry in the backseat while Richard slides in. He rips off his mask out of habit, puts on his sunglasses and they close their doors. 

“I’m not even that new,” Froy says, grinning with sort of bemused irritation as he ducks down a bit in his seat. He puts on his glasses so he can help pull up the directions on Richard’s phone, while Richard concentrates on getting them out of their parking spot without giving the photographer the finger. 

“I’m sorry. Motherfu...god, sorry love,” Richard curses, bears his teeth with anxiety as they blow past the photographer and merge into traffic. He drums his hands on the steering wheel. “Arrrrr fuckin’ hate that. Fuck. And I wanna fuckin cigarette,” he whines as he drives. 

“I think you have an old vape in here,” Froy says, trying to be helpful and looking around for one and _fuck_ but Richard adores him. 

He scowls, turning out onto the main road. “Nae. S’alright. It’ll pass. I wanna real one and I’m not gonna have it, so. Are you alright?” Richard asks, sliding a hand over into Froy’s lap to hold his, twining their fingers together while he drives, eyes on the road. 

“I’m fine. Of course the one day I’m carrying a trash bag…” Froy sighs. 

“Oh my god, babe, I’m so sorry. I could’ve taken that stuff and dropped it off days ago. Tis my fault,” Richard says, lifting Froy’s hand to kiss the backs of his knuckles. 

“Maybe no one will buy them,” Froy says with a groan, and Richard looks over at him sheepishly, a doubtful look on his face. 

They both laugh. “Someone’s definitely going to buy them,” Richard cackles. “And write a rubbish article to go with them. I’m so sorry.” It’s all so ridiculous. 

Froy puts his face in his hand. “Ok, great, well. You owe me one. A big one.”

“I do, I do that. You pick,” Richard says, biting his lip from smiling, he can’t help it. 

Froy shakes his head and stares out the window. “One day we’re going to get really dressed up to go somewhere. And we’re going to go out where there are photographers,” Froy says wistfully. 

“And I’m gonna hold your fuckin’ hand,” Richard adds dreamily. 

Froy looks over at him and scrunches his eyes up, dubiously. “And you’re going to carry out the trash when we leave,” Froy finishes, giggling. 

Richard scoffs. “Why’m I carryin’ out the bins if we're goin’ to a fancy do?”

“I think it just seems fair,” Froy says seriously. 

“You don’t wanna hold my hand?” Richard pouts, turning into the parking lot where they’re going. 

“After you took out the trash? Ew, no,” Froy laughs. “But, uh, check for photographers and kiss me before you take that laundry inside,” he demands, and he’s _so_ cute and Richard still feels really bad about the photos. 

He parks the car and looks over at Froy. “Seriously though.”

Froy lifts his eyebrows in challenge. “Seriously though.”

“I do want that. That sounds so, so nice. One day,” Richard says, words he’s said to Froy in this discussion more times than he can count already. He leans in close, looks up at him, looks for signs that he’s losing his patience. 

Froy’s face softens, and he pushes a stringy lock of Richard’s messy, bed-styled curls back from his face. Richard doesn’t see those signs yet, as Froy leans down for his kiss, and repeats him, softly. “One day.”

* * *

The photos come out a few days later. They, and the accompanying stories, are not _that_ bad, actually. 

“Oooh, they’re being nice. They must like the look of ye,” Richard says, jabs Froy with his elbow. 

“Mmm hmm, they want us to let our guard down so they can get even juicer ones next time,” Froy says, like it’s obvious. Richard looks at him, taken aback. 

“You’re so smart. And hot. How’d I get so lucky?”

Froy shrugs. “Right place at the right time. And now you’re stuck with me.” Richard quirks his mouth in a little grin. He’s glad to be stuck with him.

They both flip through the photos and stories a bit more, send the _nicest_ ones to their moms, just to get on top of it. Froy leans over to show Richard her reply a few minutes later: _told you he has a lot of baggage ;) xo_

Richard clutches his chest, wounded, until Froy laughs and tosses his phone down to settle his thighs on either side of Richard’s hips. They kiss, slow and heavy, make out lazily until one or both of their phones buzzes again. Froy groans, rolls off of him with a thud on the sofa. 

Richard replies to his publicist, basically says _please don’t do anything, just let it die,_ and they turn off their phones and go for a hike. 

They hang out in their favorite secret hilltop park, being dorks and messing around with Richard’s new rich guy toy, an aerial drone the Land Rover people sent him. Froy points out the irony of them playing with what is essentially a weaponized surveillance tool, and Richard lovingly rolls his eyes. “But look at it go, wheee. Fun, aye?” 

They take terrible, out of focus aerial photos of the tops of trees and garden statues down below, until it starts to get chilly when the clouds roll in. They hike down, get a carry away dinner, and go home in a light rain, the street quiet, no one lurking around their bins.

After dinner and turning his phone back on though, Richard feels a little prickly around the edges. No one is saying anything _bad,_ exactly, except for outright homophobes and trolls, and he long ago gave up on caring what those people say, think or post. 

It’s just comments, _opinions,_ people looking at him and Froy in a way he’s not used to, like a commodity. It’s just been them, and a tiny bubble of occasional friends, for all these months, and now it feels like outsiders are rattling the gates again.

“Hey,” Froy says, and Richard looks up, startled, realizing he had tensed up while scrolling and his brow is knitted tight across his forehead. He shakes it off, rubs his temples. 

“Sorry, sorry...I let it. Yeah, let it all back in. Didn’t like it.” Richard says, anxious, hands his phone over to Froy for him to take if he wants. Froy takes it, sets it on top of his on the coffee table as he stands, and holds out his hand.

“No more phones. Bed.” he says, a simple statement, hardly any command to it, just Froy’s soft, easy tone, but Richard likes how he knows just how to handle him. 

Richard takes his hand, follows him to the bedroom. Froy pushes him down on the end of the bed, leaning over him so he’s taller when he kisses him. He kisses Richard forcefully, intently, until Richard’s mouth feels swollen and slack, and then backs off. 

Froy takes a moment to make a show of pulling the drapes and blinds extra tight, so Richard knows for certain they still have their privacy, still have this, all for them. Then he gets them naked.

He gets on his back and makes Richard ride him, first his hand to open him up, Richard’s overworked and overdeveloped glutes clenching around Froys fingers, Froy licking his lips as Richard grinds down, around, again. 

“You like that?” Froy says and Richard shudders, can’t believe how good Froy is at this now, how good Froy is at him. 

“Gonna break your wrist if I like it any harder,” Richard says, stretches up and leans over Froy’s chest, Froy anchoring his pretty mouth around one of his nipples as he does. 

Froy shakes his head, lets the nipple drag between his teeth. “No you’re not, I got you,” he says and thrusts the fingers inside Richard a little deeper, makes Richard moan and tip forward, so far he has to catch himself. 

He braces himself on Froy’s ribs, his strong muscles, reaches for more lube from the bedside and slicks it over Froy’s cock, stiff and thick and ready between his thighs. He’s _always_ ready. He’s kind of marvelous. 

Froy chews on his lip, gazes up at him, waiting for Richard to work out the angle, press, lower, press again. Richard gasps as gravity and his muscles pull Froy’s cock into him, sinking down bit by bit. He watches Froy’s face, like always. 

Froy’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, a moment of beautiful repose, and then blink open as he digs his fingers into Richard’s quads, slaps his ass once to get him to move. “Come on, want me to fuck you? Work for it,” Froy says, puts a little roughness in his voice that makes Richard absolutely growl for it. 

“Love it when you’re dirty,” Richard says, fucks himself down further onto his boyfriend’s cock, Froy returning the force with an upward thrust that makes Richard whine. “Love you, yeah, just like that.”

“Yeah you like that? My big muscular slut, look at you. So big and all you want is me to fuck you, huh?” Froy says, and Richard’s whole core shudders, his eyes glaze over. 

“Ohhhh my dirty boy, yeah, love you, love your big cock, fuck, fuck me, love,” Richard tries to keep up, his brain barely registering a thought except getting fucked and the urge to come, lust and need and autopilot rocking him up and down with every thrust Froy gives him. 

“Good, good, take it, take my cock. You need more?” Froy asks, like he already knows what will push Richard over the edge, and Richard nods frantically, his mouth already hanging open, practically drooling for him as Froy shoves a couple of fingers between his kiss swollen lips. 

Richard sucks them, sloppy, greedy, closes his eyes for just a moment and feels every bit the slut he was at Froy’s age, giving easy head in gay club bathrooms, being handled too rough when he was so soft, pushed to his knees and loving the thrill but hating himself. 

But now he can open his eyes and look at Froy, feel safe and loved when he sees his gorgeous, sinful face, feel his pretty cock filling him up. Froy nods in encouragement, “yeah babe, so good, yeah, fuck yourself for me,” then wraps his other hand loosely around Richard’s cock as they really start to go for it. 

Froy lifts his hips and juts that perfect cock inside him, makes Richard come back for more and chase the friction of Froy’s hand stroking up and down, makes Richard gag on his fingers and swallow around them, swallow words and nonsense sounds and anxieties and everything that isn’t his boyfriend, taking him apart with his bare hands and fantastic dick. 

“Gonna come, gonna come, oh fuck babe, you fuck me so good,” Richard mumbles, spitting Froy’s fingers out in a rush, clenching sudden and hard around Froy as Froy tightens his grip just around the head of Richard’s cock, perfect, slick squeezes over the soft skin right at the edge of his foreskin.

Froy lifts up toward him, pulls him in by the mouth and kisses him full, thick, Richard sucking on his tongue as he starts to come, his eyes clamping tight as he feels his muscles contract and flutter, his cock pulse and shoot in Froy’s hand, Froy murmuring into his mouth the whole time.

“Come all over me, come on, yeah, love you, gonna come so hard from that, fuck,” Froy says, tipping Richard over and off of him while he’s still reeling in his own orgasm, his back thumping into the mattress and shaking the whole bed because Richard is _heavy,_ fucking into him once, twice, three times more and then collapsing, smiling and fucking giggling into a heap on Richard’s chest like he always does when he comes really hard. 

Richard grunts when Froy eases his way out, feels the slow seep of come trickling out of him. He squirms a little uncomfortably, traces slow meandering circles on Froy’s back as they breathe and sweat. 

Froy makes a face as he wipes come off both of them, kicks the sheets off that they’ve left in shambles again. He stretches out to kiss Richard, nips at his jaw. “You’re taking the laundry next time,” he says in Richard’s ear. 

Richard laughs and rolls his eyes, pulls Froy to lay out fully across him. “We’re probably gonna have to move again. Damn it. I’ll make sure we get a good washer.”

“Move? You think we’ll be that in demand?” Froy says, skeptically. 

Richard shrugs. “We are pretty hot. That was hot.”

“Yeah but they don’t get to see that,” Froy says, settling on Richard’s chest, tucking himself into his arm. “I don’t want them to see that.”

Richard tilts away, looks down at the top of Froy’s head. “There’s a lot of road between just seein’ us out somewhere together and seein’ us fuck, love.”

“You know what I mean. I want to keep it for us, at least a while longer,” Froy says, decisively, like he’s been thinking about it maybe more than Richard knew.

Richard closes his eyes, brushes a bit of Froy’s hair off of his face, thinking. Froy will finish shooting a show before Richard even starts his, and he has no idea when either of those things will happen. He’s waiting for a text from Chloe any day now that they’re pushing the film back again. They have been in this bubble the entire length of their relationship, but the bubble just keeps expanding to fit them. 

Froy jostles Richard from his reverie, swinging his legs over and trying to get up, but Richard grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back. “We’re gross, we need to take a shower!” Froy laughs, leaning over to kiss Richard. 

Richard pulls Froy close enough to lean his face into him, kiss his arms, and looks up at him, lips still on his warm skin. “We might have to move. But I’ll gladly stay here with ye as long as we can.”


End file.
